


On the edge

by orphan_account



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Bottom Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), M/M, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Denial, Smut, Top GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29185311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: My mutual wanted bottom dream so they will recieve. English is not my first language so the grammar might be bad. Btw George and Dream have stated they are fine with shipping, and if they ever say to stop I will take this down. Now enjoy! :D
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 404





	On the edge

There’s a rug in front of the fireplace at their house, one rough enough that it promises carpet burn if they attempt anything rigorous on it.

That’s not what George has in mind for tonight;

Dream’s spread out beneath him, mostly naked but for his socks, hair mussed from George’s hands, lips kiss-swollen and pink. George doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of seeing Dream like this, seeing Dream in any way, a lowkey thrum of attraction that never goes away.

His hands slide up Dream’s thighs, slow and soft, barely enough to get Dream worked up.

“Alright?” George asks, thumbs hovering dangerously close to Dream’s balls, close enough to brush if he wanted to. He doesn’t, but he’s not about to tell Dream that.

“Will be if you get on with it,” Dream grouses, shimmying his hips as if in protest of not being touched. Dream gets mouthy during sex, ordering George faster, asking what he wants and needs, begging for more, harder, there. Usually George will take mouthy, but not tonight. Tonight he wants the silence he knows comes from a Dream on the edge, a Dream who’s so desperate he can’t form the words to ask for what he wants.

“Patience,” George says, pushing up on his knees to hover over Dream, smile on his face as he ducks down for a kiss, all tongue and want. Dream’s hands fist in the rug, his eyes slipping closed as they make out. George’s dick slides perfectly against the dip of Dream’s hip, delicious friction that he wants to take and take and take.

Instead, he forces himself to still, arms shaking as he holds himself still, grins internally as Dream pushes up with hips and mouth, wanting already.

“Patience,” George repeats as he pulls away.

“Fuck you,” Dream snaps, lifting a hand to curl around his dick.

“Hey,” George says, slapping his hand away. “Don’t touch.”

Dream’s eyes darken, his tongue slipping out to lick his bottom lip. “Like that huh?”

“Alright?” George asks again, because it’s just what they do.

“Alright,” Dream says, voice low. It’s always alright with Dream. He’s always so desperate to prove he can, that he’ll do what George needs him to, that he’ll be what George needs him to be. It should be frightening, daunting at least, but it just makes George’s chest swell with how much he loves him.

“Move them and you’ll get nothing,” George says, forcing his voice lower. “Understand?”

Dream huffs out a laugh, rolls his eyes. “Yes sir.”

George’s dick jumps, but he pinches Dream’s hip. “I mean it.”

“Alright,” Dream says, husky. His hands rest against the rug, fingers splayed, hips lifting in gentle reminder of what he wants.

Not that he’s going to get it.

George keeps his eyes on Dream’s face as he bends his fingers, brushing fingertips against the bundle of nerves he’s so practiced at finding. Rubbing gently against them, he grins as Dream’s back seizes, as he knee jerks and he lets out a long, breathy moan.

“Fuck, George.” Dream’s grip on the carpet is tight, knuckles locked around tufts as he struggles to ground himself, to keep from bearing down on George’s fingers. “Please.”

George acquiesces. He slides his fingers back, slow in the way he knows Dream hates for how sensitive he is, and then crooks them back in, expertly finding his prostate again. And again. And again.

“George, George,” Dream says, thighs shaking with how close he is. His cock is thick and red against his stomach, leaking precum against flushed skin. George wants to wrap his fingers around it, stroke and tease until Dream’s begging for release, until he spills over George’s hand and his own belly.

Instead, George forces himself to calm, wills his own dick to hold off. This isn’t about taking what he can as quickly as he can, this is about making Dream wait, about driving him to the edge and not letting him come back.

“That’s it,” George encourages, like he would if he was going to jerk Dream off in time with his thrusts. Just like he would every time they’ve had sex.

“Yeah,” Dream breathes, closing his eyes as he grinds down against George’s fingers, breath punched out of him in a whine. Dream can’t usually come with fingers alone; George’s spent time fingering him open, taking Dream as far as he can, but he just can’t get that extra push without a hand on his dick. George’s testing a theory, and one that doesn’t require George’s hand on his dick.

Even like this, dick painfully hard, hair matted to his forehead, Dream looks like everything George never could have wished for, but it’s right here, just for him, and Dream gives more of himself sometimes than George knows what to do with.

George forces himself not to take, slides his fingers against Dream’s prostate, keeps rubbing again and again until Dream’s making soft noises, little ah, ah, ungh, ah, as he takes until George’s willing to give that last little push.

Dream’s thighs clench around George as he digs his heels into the carpet, George can feel Dream’s socked feet against his leg, and can’t help but smile.

Dream’s eyes narrow, even through the haze of lust, and he grits out a, “Fucking touch me.”

“Ask nicely,” George says, knowing full well that even if Dream does, he won’t give in.

“George,” Dream whines, closing his eyes, back arching as he tries to get George’s fingers to move. “Please.”

George pretends to consider it, then wraps his fingers around the base of Dream’s dick.

Dream lets out a slow sigh, mutters a, “yeah,” and thrusts up into George’s fist.

George’s content to let him, works his fingers against Dream’s prostate as Dream fucks himself in George’s hand. It’s hot, makes George’s dick throb painfully, but his self-control always been better than Dream’s.

“George,” Dream breathes, his hold body tensing, and George knows he’s close; he can hear it in the hitch of Dream’s breath, of the throb of Dream’s dick under his fingers, of the shaking of Dream’s thighs.

Dream lets out a slow whine, back starting to arch off the rug and George curls his lips up into a smile, squeezes his fingers just tight enough to stave off any release Dream might be building.

Dream’s whole body shakes as he sobs, his heel kicking down against the floor. “Please.”

“No,” George says, gently, another little squeeze of pressure.

Dream lets out another sob, his hips thrusting up against George’s hand, then grinding down on the fingers in his arse, like he can’t decide how he wants to get there, as if George’s going to let him. It takes a beat, the sound of the clock on the fireplace ticking down the time until Dream peers at him, his eyes dark. George watches him swallow once, twice, waits for a hint of clarity in his eyes.

“With me?” George asks, stroking his fist once, twice.

Dream grunts, lets out a slow breath. “You’re a dick.”

George snorts. “Mmhmm. A dick who’s getting you off.”

“I beg to diff-ungh,” his words trail off into a moan as George drags his fingers against Dream’s prostate. “Oh god.”

Taking his time, his efforts slower and lighter, the barest of brushes, George settles more comfortably between Dream’s legs. He’s ready for the long haul, desperate to get off, but far more determined to drive Dream to the edge of his endurance, to the point where he can’t focus on anything but George.

George’s fingers ache, his body screaming at him to move. He doesn’t know how long it’s been, doesn’t want to break away from watching Dream’s face to check the time.

He’s still knuckle deep, Dream’s prostate must be over sensitive by now, but it doesn’t show. The noises coming out of Dream’s mouth stopped making sense a while ago, George’s name just a series of gasps, his begs turning into whines that he can’t control the pitch or length of.

George leans up on his elbows, drops his hand away from Dream’s dick to rub his thumb up next to the fingers he slides carefully out of Dream.

“Ngh.” Dream’s left knee drops, his fingers sliding absently against the carpet, little thought to it.

George smiles, but shoulders Dream’s knee back up.

“George,” Dream finally manages, throat raw. “I can’t.”

“You can,” George tells him, and ducks down, swipes his tongue over Dream’s hole, feels it flutter against his mouth. The noise Dream makes is louder than George’s expecting, sending a jolt of pleasure down his spine, his dick leaking against his stomach. He wants. It’s getting harder to keep from just fucking Dream, but he doesn’t want this to be over, wants more.

Dream’s cheeks are wet, sweat and tears both, and his eyes are clenched as George tongues at Dream’s hole, presses in slowly, a mimicry of sex as he tests Dream’s resolve yet again.

“I can’t,” Dream says, over and over, voice low. His chest heaves with every breath, his body vibrating with need, with want.

Brushing his fingers below his tongue, then slipping two in alongside his tongue, Dream’s protestations turn into moans, turning into a steady keen as he shoves down on George’s tongue and fingers. It’s a rhythm George knows, and he waits until Dream’s heels shove against the carpet, his fingers clenching against the rug before pulling away completely, leaving Dream to yell in frustration, the splay of his body against the carpet in defeat.

George rubs a hand soothingly against Dream’s thigh, presses a kiss to his stomach, making sure to avoid Dream’s dick.

“Can’t,” Dream says again, like it’s the only word he remembers.

“S’alright,” George tells him, leaning over Dream to touch his chin, press a kiss to his lips. Dream’s eyes are so black they’ve swallowed almost all colour, and there’s a distance to them, like he’s not all there. “You with me?”

“Mmhmm,” Dream replies, barely a response, but George checks again, this time Dream’s eyes clearing enough that he nods. “I wanna come.”

“I know,” George says, parts with a kiss to slide back down Dream’s body. “I’m gonna let you.”

Just not yet.

Dream’s heels have been digging into George’s legs for long enough that he’s going to have bruises.

It’s worth it;

He’s back to fingering Dream open, the touches to his prostate sparse and quick, teasing Dream just enough to want it before taking it away again. There’s a faraway look to Dream’s face, his whole body tense with pleasure, and his hands have stopped scrambling for something to hold.

George’s not worried; he and Dream have been having sex a long time, and this is what he wanted, what he gets to see rarely but has such fun drawing out.

Almost. Almost.

“Dream? You here?”

Dream’s head is tipped back against the carpet, tears still visible on his cheeks, hair a mess against the blue of the carpet. He shouldn’t look so good checked out, but he does, and George’s dick throbs with how much he wants to take.

“Hey,” George says gently, brushing his free hand against Dream’s thigh. “Dreamie?”

Dream’s eyes slide slowly down to George, his hips grinding down on George’s hand, and George realises he’s stopped moving his fingers. He keeps still, watches with fascination as Dream’s hips keep bearing down on his fingers, even as he blinks hazily at George.

“You want to come?” George asks, sliding his fingers slowly out of Dream.

Dream’s brow furrows, though George would never have seen it if he wasn’t looking for it; it’s Dream checking out, knowing George’s talking but not understanding a word he’s saying. George has to grab his own dick to keep from coming at the sight of Dream trying to grind down on air, like it’s taking him a while to realise he’s empty.

“Fuck,” George mutters, and grips Dream’s hips in his hands, tugs him until his back slides against the carpet and Dream’s hands finally, finally come up to grip George’s arms. He doesn’t say anything, even though his mouth is moving, and he’s still not focusing on George very well, but his whole body shudders as George’s dick slides against his hole, then slips in so easily George can’t help but groan.

It’s not going to last long; he’s been on the edge for who knows how long, and he knows Dream’s been waiting even longer. Every thrust is delicious friction he’s been craving, every slide of his dick against Dream’s prostate makes Dream shake, his breath coming out fast and unsteady, soft noises that George’s never heard before.

“Come on,” George encourages, brushing a hand against Dream’s shoulder, thumb on his jaw. “You can do it.”

Dream’s eyes blink as he nods, quick, coming back enough to acknowledge George’s words.

“That’s it,” George says, pulling out slowly and then sliding back in, varying speed enough that Dream’s trying to meet him at every thrust. George can see his cock leaking steadily.

“’emme,” Dream says, gasping out the words. He’s looking back at the ceiling, legs shifting and George knows he’s bracing himself against the flow, fingers back to the rug. “Lemme.”

“I’m not stopping you,” George tells him softly, kissing his chest, his chin. He draws out, thrusts in just right and hits Dream’s prostate. “You can come.”

Dream actually cries, throat working as his whole body seizes, coming harder than George’s seen in a long time. George rides him through it, keeps thrusting even after Dream’s body relaxes, and it takes him a while to realise that Dream’s breath is too even, that his eyes are closed.

Fuck, fuck.

George can’t stop his own orgasm slamming into him full body, his fingers clenching against Dream’s shoulders, dick pulsing as he moans out his release.

He wants nothing more than to slump against Dream, but he forces himself to touch Dream’s cheek, thumb at his bottom lip. “Dream.”

There’s no reply and George slides out of him slowly, hands on his neck as he pushes himself up onto shaky knees.

“Dream?”

Dream’s breathing, slow even breathes like he’s sleeping, and George’s chest tightens.

There’s a bottle of water next to Dream’s keys on the table and he grabs it, uncaring about how naked he is, the thrum of worry under his skin enough to tap Dream’s cheek gently.

“Hey, you with me?”

Like he’s been shocked out of it, Dream’s eyes snap open, immediately landing on George. Body shaking, he reaches for George, and George shifts him slowly, aware of how long he’s been lying on the carpet.

“Easy,” he says, cradling Dream against his chest. “Drink some of this.”

Dream’s head lolls against his shoulder, but George presses the bottle to his lips, makes sure he drinks in short bursts.

“That’s it.”

“Fuck,” Dream manages, voice muffled against George’s skin.

George grins, kisses Dream’s temple. “That was fun.”

Dream huffs out a laugh, his body slack against George.

“You with me?”

“Mmhmm,” Dream says. “Your turn next.”

“Should probably have a break first,” George says, brushing a hand through Dream’s wet hair, taking Dream’s weight gladly. “Wouldn’t want you to pass out again.”

Dream doesn’t reply, and when George looks, his eyes are closed and his breathing slows into a steady rhythm.

“Bed first,” he says, shaking Dream a little. “I need you somewhere comfortable.”

“No,” Dream whines, but doesn’t protest as George moves his aching limbs up onto the sofa. He’s pliant and easy under George’s hands, and George’s chest aches with how much he loves him, how much he’ll never stop wanting him.

“Love you,” George says, as they settle on the sofa, unable to keep from brushing a hand over Dream’s skin, his hip, his arse.

Dream’s breath hitches. “Can’t.”

“You did,” George tells him with a kiss, holds him as Dream’s cheek nestles against his chest, his fingers splayed againstGeorge’s stomach.

“Mmm’ventually.”

George laughs, knows he’ll be dragging this out when he’s alone, when he’s desperate for Dream and Dream’s away, or out, or anywhere not with George.

“You loved it,” George says, all confidence.

“Your turn next,” Dream promises, exhaling slowly.

George can’t wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Thx for reading


End file.
